


Death is a Dear Friend

by MaskedPanda



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, Morosexual Lio Fotia, Psychic Abilities, Team as Family, does it count as character death if the person who dies is a villain and also a ghost?, galo is not a complete idiot, galo is smitten, he's still pretty dumb tho, kray foresight is a dick even in death, lio is a good boi, my ex evil-step-dad is haunting me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskedPanda/pseuds/MaskedPanda
Summary: Lio is a pyromaniac psychic.Kray is a bastard ghost.Galo is Galo, which is to say he has no common sense whatsoever.This calls for trouble.
Relationships: Burning Rescue Members & Galo Thymos, Lio Fotia & Gueira & Meis, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Death is a Dear Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a dumb drunk bitch who loves psychic aus, especially ones where one of the characters is a dumb-dumb. So here we go. Also this is cracky, I blame it on the alcohol, and if any of the characters seem out of character, just assume they are also drunk.

Galo was being haunted, that much was undeniable. 

It had all started when Kray Foresight had died. It had been a sunny afternoon and Kray had just died in a fiery inferno that had completely swallowed up his forty-storey tall office building. Coincidentally Galo had been part of the fire-fighter team that had managed to finally put out the flames after three hours of effort, far too late to save Kray from his fate. Kray had been Galo’s role-model, having saved Galo from a fire when he was just a boy, it was somewhat ironic, thought Galo, that he had been unable to do the same for Kray (or maybe it was coincidental, he always mixed those two things up). Kray had semi-raised Galo after the fire had engulfed his family home, and also his family - perhaps Galo was just destined to lose his family in inexplicable, sudden fires. 

Anyway, someone was now haunting Galo, Galo knew that for a fact. His flat was always cold, which, admittedly was quite useful as it was the height of summer and Galo’s air conditioning had broken after he’d practiced his new matoi attacks on it, and his kitchenware was moving by itself; he’d wake up in the morning to find glasses and plates that he’d left on his coffee table suddenly in his sink. Actually, those two aspects weren’t really a problem for Galo and he rather enjoyed them for the most part, it was the streak of bad luck that had targeted him that was the issue. 

Whenever he walked down the street cars would seem to go out of their ways to try and hit them, whenever Galo attempted cooking anything in his kitchen, his knives would conspire against him and launch themselves at his face, and at night loud country music would blare – his least favourite genre. Honestly, for the most part, he didn’t really mind it, dodging knives while he cooked breakfast was certainly a thrilling way to start the day and woke him up better than coffee, which he had never really been able to convince himself to like, and he was certain that it was improving his reflexes, which was always appreciated. The country music was mildly annoying, but Galo prided himself on his ability to sleep through anything, so aside from the strange dreams they caused him to have, where he lived in a mid-western ranch and lived a maddeningly boring life raising ducks, not even the music bothered him much. The only real issue that Galo had with the whole experience was that his ghost seemed to have latched onto his treasured matoi. 

Galo’s matoi was now actively tripping him up and hitting him in the face when he was out on a job theatrically extinguishing fires; once causing him to fall flat on his face during one of his performances putting out a particularly large fire that had gathered quite a few of his fans. It was in lieu of this stinging betrayal that Galo began to confront the truth of the situation, that there was some sort of supernatural creature co-habiting with him. He had entertained the idea that it could be a demon but had dismissed it when he realised that there wasn’t nearly enough blood dripping from the walls, or upside-down crucifixes, or ritualistic pentagrams drawn in chalk on his floors; and Galo certainly didn’t feel possessed. So, demon was out of the question, though he was sure that a demon would be more accommodating than whatever was actually following him around. 

Once he had eliminated the impossible, the next most plausible explanation he could think of was that there was a ghost. The only issue was, he had no idea who could be haunting him. Galo hadn’t experienced anyone close to him dying, apart from Kray, and he couldn’t really think of anyone who would even want to haunt him. He was almost tempted to just sweep the whole thing under the carpet and ignore it - perhaps if he ignored the ghost, they would ignore him – and resolved to become a more considerate roommate. After all, just because someone was dead didn’t mean they didn’t have feelings, perhaps they were just upset that Galo was ignoring their presence and wanted to catch his attention. 

For several weeks, Galo played his music quietly, watched television with subtitles on and the sound so inaudible it might well have been muted, tip-toed around his flat, and, for good measure, baked cookies and left them on the kitchen counter with a sticky-note imploring his ghostly roommate to help themselves. To Galo’s disappointment, the plate remained untouched. Doubly disappointing was the fact that Galo’s efforts had been in vain, the ghost was still causing minor mayhem around his flat. Despite the Friday Fun Nights that Galo had attempted to found, the ghost still remained as bitter as ever, and decidedly un-fun, thwarting every attempt Galo made to be considerate. 

Seeing that being a considerate roommate wasn’t working, Galo switched gears. If this ghost wasn’t going to appreciate his offers of kindness, then he would have to kick it out of his flat instead. Sadly, even this wasn’t enough. As much as Galo tried to land a punch on the ghost, he couldn’t even see this spectre haunting his flat, he’d tried to punch the air, hoping that he was landing roughly where he assumed the ghost was standing, or possibly floating, but, somewhat predictably, his swings hit nothing and he ended up flailing at the empty space before him. Galo wasn’t entirely an idiot though, remembering that salt worked well enough in movies, and, not letting his failures dishearten him, scattered salt all over his flat. 

It didn’t work so well in real life, Galo quickly learned, when the salt did nothing to deter the spirit, actually, it seemed to do the opposite, renewing it with spite. It became more vicious in its anger, the country music increased in volume and length, the southern drawl of the lyrics elongated every vowel, drew out the melody in a painful way, and the lyrics centred more and more on the country life-style of living on the farm. His matoi became more belligerent too, bruises were a regular occurrence on his skin, and it was more likely that Galo would whack himself on the head with it than he would be able to use it to fight any fires. 

It all came to a head when his team cornered him at work and threw him an intervention. 

‘Look,’ said Aina, hand on her hip in that familiar, I can’t believe you’re such an idiot way that Aina was so good at, ‘you’re being haunted Galo, and we’re all sick of it.’

‘So am I.’ Galo protested helplessly. He was pretty sure he could remember the lyrics to every Johnny Cash song at this point. 

Remi rolled his eyes from where he was lounging in the corner of the room, ‘Great, so do something about it.’

‘I’ve tried!’

‘Being friendly and accommodating doesn’t count,’ Remi replied flatly, when he saw Galo about to interrupt, he continued, ‘neither does threatening to punch it.’

Galo faltered. ‘It doesn’t?’ 

‘Galo, we love you, but –‘ Aina began, then hesitated. 

‘You need an exorcist,’ Lucia cut in, ‘you’re clearly being haunted and it’s starting to affect us too. I don’t know how much longer I can put up with your ghostly friend tipping over my projects and spilling your energy drinks all over my blueprints. Do you realise how much work I’ve lost?’ The energy drinks were something that Galo didn’t like to think about. Energy drinks were his main alternative to coffee, and every drink he’d lost was something to mourn in Galo’s opinion. 

‘Something needs to be done, Galo.’ Aina said, and though her tone was soft, there was a firm edge underlying it. 

Galo sighed mournfully, glancing desperately at Ignis and Varys who pointedly avoided eye contact with him. ‘I just don’t know what an exorcist would do,’ Galo protested, giving up on the prospect of receiving any else’s support, something that he really should have never expected considering it was an intervention, ‘I’ve already tried reasoning with it, and it just ignored me – or maybe it just didn’t understand me. Do ghosts have a different language? Oh! And I tried punching it, but that didn’t work either.’

Aina made a pained face, rubbing the bridge of her nose in exasperation. ‘Look, I searched online and found a psychic for you, he’s got great rating on Yelp, and he’ll definitely do a better job than you at getting rid of this ghost.’ She pulled out a business card, handing the small paper rectangle to Galo, who hesitantly took it from her. 

‘Lio Fotia?’ 

‘He’s apparently really good – a little unconventional, but good. The real deal, or as close to it you can get at the price he’s asking.’

‘I still think I could do it myself if I could only figure out how to physically touch it.’ Galo sulked. Despite his complaints, he tucked the business card away into his trouser pocket.

‘Stick to your matoi and call the damn psychic,’ Ignis grumbled from the corner he was currently brooding in, having obviously been cowed into the intervention by Aina and her scarily strong fists. 

‘Ok, ok,’ Galo finally conceded.

‘Good, now let’s get back to making fun of Varys for making up an obviously fake girlfriend.’ Remi called out from his comfy sofa.

‘Oh, come on!’ Varys exclaimed, raising his arms in annoyance. ‘She is not fake! You met her last week, for god’s sake!’

‘You mean I met the actress you paid to play her.’ Remi corrected, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. 

An argument erupted between the two of them, loud and familiar, with Lucia occasionally injecting her own, equally inflammatory input, and Galo quickly zoned out. He pulled out Fotia’s business card once more, casting his eyes over it to memorise every inch. ‘Lio Fotia’s Psychic Detective Agency’, it proclaimed in bold purple and green text, a phone number was scrawled below it. ‘Call anytime’ it added cheerfully in the bottom right hand corner. 

Galo found himself staring at the card once again later that evening in the safety of his own flat, hours after the intervention. He debated lying about calling this Fotia character to Aina the next day but remembered that he could never lie to her - or anyone. Galo was a terrible liar, he always forgot to make eye-contact, and couldn’t help the cold sweat he would break in to, even when it leaked through his shirt and he was forced to remove it. 

Once he’d decided that lying wasn’t an option, he made up his mind to bite the bullet and call the psychic. He gathered his courage and pressed the dial button. 

\---

The next afternoon found Galo waiting anxiously on his sofa while his pots and pans floated ominously beside him, waiting for the doorbell to ring. He’d tried to assure his ghost that the psychic wasn’t a threat and persuade it not to use his pans as weapons, but the ghost had either ignored him or not heard him at all – Galo liked to believe it was the latter. So, he was waiting for Fotia to arrive, and hopefully manage to warn him about the ghost before he was inevitably attacked with a veritable mountain of Galo’s cooking utensils. He felt slightly ridiculous as he sat waiting for the bell to ring, but one glance at the large pan next to his head reminded him that he should probably be careful because that could definitely cause some injuries.

When the doorbell did finally ring, Galo certainly wasn’t prepared for the man who was outside his flat. 

He’d raced to answer the door, somehow managing to outpace a literal ghost, and sputtered out a breathless greeting to the beauty that was waiting for him. When Galo’s eyes settled on the psychic, he swore that the ghost had somehow managed to hit him with the pans instead of Fotia. His breath left his lungs faster than the devil flees holy ground, and his stomach erupted into a swarm of locusts. 

Before him stood Aphrodite incarnate; a slim, short beauty with blonde hair to his shoulders and wrapped in a tight leather embrace. Galo knew from the moment that he set eyes on him that he was the epitome of perfection. All of his secret desires tied up with a skintight leather bow. 

‘H-hey,’ Galo managed to stammer out through the knots his tongue had somehow found itself in. 

‘Galo, right? I’m the psychic, Lio Fotia.’ His voice was surprisingly deep for his short stature, but Galo still found himself practically swooning at it. There was an awkward pause, as Lio cast a bemused gaze over Galo, quirking a judgmental eyebrow at his shirtless state. Galo always went shirtless, he found shirts confining and thought they stifled his charismatic energy, and the people he helped at work always loved it. Unfortunately, it appeared that Lio didn’t quite seem to appreciate it as much as Galo hoped he would, and Galo felt the locusts in his stomach gnaw at his insides at the realisation. 

After a moment longer of the awkward staring, Galo remembered that he was supposed to say something. ‘C-Come in,’ he said far too quickly to be natural, holding the door open in a fashion he hoped wasn’t too enthusiastic. Though, considering the way It banged loudly against his flat wall, it seemed that it was an impossible wish. ‘Oh, uh, watch out for the flying kitchenware, though.’ 

‘Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself. It is part of the job description after all’ Lio replied, brushing past Galo and stepping into his flat as though he owned the place, ‘now where’s your ghost?’

Before Galo could respond, a saucepan flew through the air, aimed directly at Lio’s head. Lio ducked neatly, and Galo would likely have been in awe of his elegance, if not for the fact that the saucepan had smacked against his chest with Lio’s head no longer in its path. Galo flinched backwards, letting out a startled grunt as the force of the saucepan slammed him against his still open door in a crumpled heap. 

‘Never mind,’ Lio said, barley glancing in Galo’s direction, ‘he certainly is a rude one, isn’t he?’ Lio stepped further into Galo’s flat, noting the floating pots and pans ready to launch themselves at him again, while Galo struggled to catch his breath and clamber back to his feet behind him. 

Another pan was thrown across the room, and once more Lio easily dodged it, sidestepping the oncoming object. Luckily, this one missed Galo, clattering noisily against his flat wall instead before dropping lifelessly to the floor. Galo heaved a sigh of relief and pressed himself against the opposite wall in an attempt to make himself scarce, which was a predictably difficult task considering he was shirtless and had bright blue hair that practically doubled his height. He wondered if he should do something to help Lio, but the psychic appeared to be holding his own just fine, agilely thwarting every attempt the ghost made to knock him down. Besides, watching Lio was pretty entertaining, the guy was so damn cool!

‘Begone unfortunate creature,’ Lio was muttering, ‘your filthy presence is unwelcome, leave this simple, unwitting soul alone and fuck off back to the afterlife where you belong.’

That last bit didn’t sound quite right to Galo, but he wasn’t the psychic, so maybe it was just a well-practiced tradition that he wasn’t privy to, and it did seem to be upsetting the ghost, who had switched from pans to knives. Galo blinked in surprise when one such knife was flung his way, lodging itself into the surface next to his head. For what it was worth, Lio was completely unfazed by this switch. Instead he was reciprocating this viciousness, taking a moment to tug a knife that had narrowly missed his arm out of where it was wedged and brandished it towards the ghost. It was beginning to look less like an exorcism and more like a bar fight where one of the fighters was apparently invisible. 

The longer the exorcism went on, the more frustrated Lio became, the blade of his knife began to glow red, the plastic handle losing its shape in his hands. Galo vaguely hoped it was just a trick of the light and adrenaline, because it just so happened that it was his favourite knife Lio was holding, and he really didn’t want to have to replace it, even if it did make Lio look really badass. 

It was when the fingers of Lio’s free hand began to flicker with heat, smoke rising from his fingertips, and sparks pricking at his palm, that Galo realised that it wasn’t just the thrill of the situation making him see things, and yes, Lio really was literally on fire. Flames were licking at Lio’s hand, engulfing his fingers, ready to launch at the ghost. Galo was alarmed at the fire making its way across Lio’s fingertips, it would definitely be embarrassing for a fire-fighter like himself to have his own flat engulfed in flames, and he knew the rest of Burring Rescue would never let him live it down. 

He wondered if he should intervene in some way, there was something in their violence, however, that told Galo that he should keep away, pressed against the walls of his flat, a warning that he had never heeded before, and he was sure that if it was any other day, he would have ignored it and rushed in, matoi in hand and brandishing a courage that he had been born with. It wasn’t any other day though, and Galo found himself, for some reason he couldn’t quite grasp, couldn’t understand, pressed himself against the wall of his flat, feeling helpless in a way that he had never felt before. Galo had tried to fight against the ghost before, and had failed miserably, and it was in part with this in mind that he found himself unable to join the fray. Not to mention his matoi had flipped him upside down and laid him out flat on the ground, a humiliating defeat that he had not expected. Besides, there was something mesmerising in watching Lio’s violence, the look in his eyes that told of a fierce intensity that Galo had never witnessed before. 

Lio cocked his head, glancing in Galo’s direction, flashing him a predatory smile that made Galo’s heart warm with an incessant heat that burned him brightly, a small bonfire in his chest that burned with a ferocity that Galo had never before felt even in the throes of a burning building. Every fire he had put out paled in comparison to the heat that Lio lit inside of him. 

The next moment the cold had fled Galo’s flat, replaced with the warmth that was distinctly Lio in essence, it flooded every inch of Galo’s body, reminding him of cinnamon hot chocolate. Spicy and sweet. 

‘He left,’ Lio said simply, staring at the empty space Galo presumed the ghost had occupied only a few seconds earlier. He loosened his grip on the knife he’d been holding, and Galo could see that it was absolutely not just a trick of the light earlier, and his lovely knife was indeed gnarled and disfigured. The plastic of the handle was warped and melted, rivulets of now hardened plastic trailed down it, and Galo could faintly make out the outline of Lio’s hand from where it had been gripping the hilt tightly. 

‘Did he?’ Galo asked, still entirely overwhelmed and uncertain about the events that had just transpired. 

‘Yes,’ Lio replied simply. He stared a moment longer at the space the poltergeist had haunted, before giving Galo’s flat a once over, obvious judgement in his eyes. ‘Sorry, but have you ever cleaned this place before?’

‘This isn’t clean?’ Galo sputtered, unable to hold back his astonishment. From the disgust on Lio’s face, it definitely wasn’t, which was strange, because his flat was cleaner than it had ever been before a ghost started co-habiting it. ‘Would you believe me if I told you this was the ghost’s doing?’ Galo added weakly, scraping to re-gain any respect Lio might have held for him. 

There was a deeply resigned sigh from the psychic. ‘Do you have any vodka?’ He asked eventually, and Galo could only wordlessly hand him a bottle he fetched from his cupboard along with some lemonade he always kept on hand. 

‘Um,’ Galo began, feeling somewhat self-conscious in the silence that followed Lio gulping down the vodka, ‘is the exorcism complete then?’ He was somewhat worried to hear the answer. 

‘No, he ran away.’

‘Oh. Is that bad?’ 

‘Annoying, more like. I’m going to make a call to my colleagues, then I’ll answer your questions.’ Lio said. He excused himself from the room for a few minutes, and despite Galo’s best attempts, he could hear nothing of Lio’s apparent conversation, and instead focused on the apparent uncleanliness of his flat, trying to pinpoint what it was exactly that made Lio so disgusted. Was it perhaps the carpets, coated in crumbs that hadn’t been hoovered in a month? He didn’t think so. He’d left it for longer, and no one at Burning Rescue had noticed when he invited them over for the weekly trivia night. Maybe it was the windows that hadn’t been wiped since he’d moved in, but Galo wasn’t sure he knew anyone who actually cleaned their windows, so that probably wasn’t it. The wilted plants that he’d forgotten to water, then? Doubtful, one of those plants still had a green looking leaf on it! Ultimately, Galo couldn’t figure out what had upset Lio so much, it seemed perfectly fine to him, in fact, his flat was probably the cleanest it had ever been!

Galo barely noticed Lio wandering back into the living room/kitchen of his flat, so focused on solving what exactly was so awful about his flat. 

‘My co-workers should be here in about an hour,’ Lio said, semi-distracting Galo from his thoughts. 

‘Ok,’ Galo said, unable to hold back the eagerness in his voice at the prospect of spending an hour alone with Lio. 

‘I suppose I should explain what just happened - you are the client, and Meis keeps reminding me that I need to be more forthright with clients.’ 

‘Yeah, I didn’t really understand anything that was happening, but it was badass.’ 

‘I’m aware,’ Lio said coolly, though Galo could have sworn he saw something akin to pride curl the corners of his mouth. ‘What you just witnessed was an exorcism, although an incomplete one. I was attempting to persuade your ghost to move on.’

Galo laughed loudly. ‘Do your attempts at persuasion always end in a knife fight?’ 

Lio flashed him a wry smile. ‘Eager to experience it yourself, are you? But, no, only when my opponent is particularly stubborn. Speaking of; do you have any idea whose ghost that was?’

‘Uh – not that I can think of.’ 

‘Really? You don’t know anyone who’s died recently?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ Galo frowned, thinking. ‘No. There’s only Kray, but it’s definitely not him, so I really have no idea who it is, sorry.’ 

Lio blinked. ‘Why can’t it be Kray?’ 

‘Because Kray is practically a dad to me- I mean, kind of. He saved me from a fire when I was eight, and always made sure to visit me once a month growing up,’ Galo explained enthusiastically, ‘he helped me get the position I have now – as a fire-fighter. He’s the best! Why would he want haunt me like this?’

Lio arched an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t have thought nepotism was needed to become a fire-fighter.’ 

‘It’s not.’ 

‘Right. And how did Kray die exactly?’

‘In a fire. It’s kind of ironic really, he saved me from a fire, but I couldn’t do the same for him. Or- well, it wasn’t exactly the fire that killed him per se. More the giant statue of himself that crushed him after I managed to get him out of the building.’

‘The giant statue of himself? Wait, are you talking about Kray Foresight?’ 

Galo lit up. ‘Yeah! Have you heard of him?’

‘You could say that,’ Lio muttered more to himself, and Galo must have been mishearing, because he could have sworn he could hear contempt in Lio’s voice. 

‘It was awful. The statue was on the roof of the building, but the fire must have burned away its supports, it started near the top of the building, after all. I had just gotten Kray out and was going back in to look for others when the statue just fell. It was a twelve-foot statue of himself made from solid gold. All two and a half tons of it fell forty storeys and just crushed him.’ Galo sighed. ‘It was such a tragedy.’ 

‘I’m sure.’ 

‘It really was. Kray deserved better than to be crushed by a bigger, gold-er version of himself.’ 

Lio hummed non-committedly, in a way that could have been anything from, ‘I agree, Kray was a good man who should have at least died from being crushed by a twelve-foot golden Jesus instead,’, to ‘Kray was the scum of the earth, and his death was poetic justice; I revel in his death and can’t wait to dance on his grave.’ Instead of clarifying his stance in the matter, as Galo hoped he would, Lio instead said, ‘This probably seems like a strange question, but is there any possibility that Kray was psychic?’ 

‘I don’t think so. I mean, I never saw him use any cool psychic abilities like you did just now, and he was always speaking out against psychics.’

‘I’m perfectly aware of that,’ Lio said through a perfect smile, ‘but you never know with these things.’ 

‘Want a cookie?’ Galo offered, derailing the conversation in a way he hadn’t thought he could. He held out a plate of cookies he had baked for the ghost in offering to Lio who blinked slowly in confusion.

‘I’m not sure these are edible,’ Lio said at length, eyeing the burned cookies suspiciously. 

‘Do you think? I put a lot of effort into them.’ Galo pondered. It was true, the cookies had taken him hours to bake, and he was proud of the result, but at Lio’s words he wasn’t so sure. 

Lio glanced at him suspiciously once more, then seemingly decided that it was worth the risk. He plucked one of the burned cookies off of the proffered plate, a smudge of charcoal left in its wake. He sniffed it experimentally before taking a bite. It wasn’t an immediate recoil at the taste, but it was close enough that Galo knew the answer. 

‘They’re delicious,’ Lio said through gritted teeth and a rapidly paling face.

‘Really?’ 

‘Absolutely.’ If Lio’s voice was a pitch higher, Galo didn’t comment. ‘They’re so good that we should save some for my co-workers.’

Galo beamed at the prospect, moving the plate away from Lio once more. ‘What are your co-workers like? Do they all have different psychic abilities and you all come together to defeat a ghost, like an episode of Power Rangers?’ 

Lio laughed, and it was like a funeral bell’s toll. Galo thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. ‘No, they both use pyrokinesis like me,’ Lio said proudly, ‘it is the most effective form of psychokinesis, after all.’ 

‘Is it?’ 

‘Yes. With just a snap of my fingers, I can light most ghosts on fire.’ Smugness was strangely attractive on Lio, Galo decided, as his face glowed with pride. 

‘And my kitchen knives,’ Galo added helpfully. 

‘Those too. But mostly ghosts.’ 

“Is it possible that you could un-melt my knives?’ 

‘No, you definitely need a new knife. Sorry. It was necessary for the exorcism. As I told you before, it was persuasion. Some ghosts get very upset when you try to remind them of where they belong and require a slightly more physical push in the right direction. Of course, your knife was required, as I needed a conduit for my pyrokinesis to properly execute this push.’ 

Galo nodded seriously, fully accepting this explanation, although, he likely would have accepted it if Lio had just said that he wanted to look cool. ‘ I only wish you could have used something other than my best knife.’ 

“That is unfortunate,’ Lio agreed, ‘I could always ask my co-workers to buy you a new knife on their way?’ 

Galo thought about it for a moment. Was it really a good idea to invite two strangers claiming they were psychics into his house, especially if they had a knife in their possession? ‘That would be super helpful, Lio.’ He concluded, accepting his fate at the hands of a pyrokinetic psychic agency with knives with only mild flirting to his name, whatever that fate may be. 

'I shall tell my co-workers immediately.' Lio informed politely. He paused, the orange lighting of Galo's apartment casting a bashful shadow on his face through a curtain of perfectly coiffed blonde hair. 'Ah, and, I am sorry about your knife, for what it's worth.' He continued slightly more hesitantly, meeting Galo's eyes through long, pale lashes; and Galo swore he fell in love right then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this fic drunk, and will continue to write most of this fic drunk. If any of it seems out of character, you can just pretend that the characters are also drunk, it is essentially true. 
> 
> I love Galo and Lio, but you can never convince me that Lio is anything other than a morosexual for Galo. If this fic ends in Lio looking at the readers and saying, 'He's so fucking dumb, I think I'm in love with him,' then that is because it is basically how the movie canonically ended for me.


End file.
